Breathtaking
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: Welcome to part 7 of 'As Easy As' a nice fluffy piece with five short parts forming the entirety of one day. or - 'Five time Steve found Tony Breathtaking. because yus.'Tony Stark never failed to take Steve's breath away.
1. 2am

_'_ _Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.'_ Steve let the book fall open on his chest, the last line lingering in his mind as he closed his eyes, a deep breath sweeping away the last vestiges of the make believe world his existence had been limited to for the past several hours.

Rubbing his fingers thoughtfully over the redish orange cover, the cardboard smooth and cool beneath his fingers, Steve sighed, feeling somewhat distanced from the here and now, a strange melancholy lingering in his chest.

Catching up on all the literature he'd missed over the course of 70 years was both maddeningly daunting, as well as enormously exciting, and Steve never tired of picking up a new novel, but on occasion he found himself being drawn into something that he hadn't quite been expecting, as the case had been earlier this evening.

Rolling onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, Steve slid the book onto the top of the small pile resting near the bedside table, knowing that it would probably linger in his thoughts for several days, and he might be back for a second read through before moving onto the next title on his list.

For now though, it was bedtime, and he got to his feet, shoulders rolling and arms coming up in a stretch as he shrugged off an evening's worth of stillness. A trip to the bathroom and a glass of water later, and he pulled back the covers, sliding into blissfully cool silk that immediately moulded around his body and settled to his body temperature.

A quick glance at the neon numbers glaring at him from the bedside table told him that it was nearing 2am, and Steve stifled a yawn. 2am wasn't exactly running himself ragged, Superserum allowing him super stamina, but his mind wanted what his mind wanted.

Stretching slightly, his feet sliding along smooth material into cooler regions of the bed, Steve brushed a hand over the wide empty expanse to his right, and shrugged. It was worth a try.

"Jarvis, Is Tony still in the workshop?" he asked, rolling onto his back to face the ceiling, not sure he was ever going to break himself of the habit, and not really trying very hard to (he'd seen the stupidly adoring smile Tony wore when he saw Steve do stupidly endearing things).

"Yes, Captain. Do you require Sir's attention?" Came the prompt response, the formal British tones infused with just a hint of _something_ beyond what technology could accomplish, but Steve could never quite put his finger on.

He answered, "No thanks Jarvis. I was just- Where is he on the scale at the moment?"

The scale was a little _in-joke_ among the Avengers, coined one particularly memorable day, some 92hours into one of Tony's infamous insomnia jags. The idea had likely originating from Clint, but had been adopted by the rest of the group over the course of the day, starting with the archer informing them over breakfast that Stark was at the stage of "Could be building a bomb, might just be changing a bulb".

By mid evening he'd progressed to Natasha's devised stage of "There might be a sentient desk lamp in the library ". And at 11pm things had culminated into JARVIS shutting down the lab and informing Steve that "Sir has just entered 'Burn my eyebrows off exhausted", and would the Captain be so kind as to encourage him to bed, in whatever way necessary.

Since then the 'scale' had been expanded several times, suffered several vigorous additions and reworking's, and was truly a work of practicality in deducing the state of Tony's Exhaustion.

"Not to worry, Captain, Sir is only just starting to progress beyond 'B.O.S.I.A.C', I predict it'll be several hours before he enters 'Was I dissembling or assembling?, and then a further hour after that before 'Everything needs repulsors'".

Steve huffed a breath, half laughter, half exasperation. B.O.S.I.A.C, or Bosiac was the one term Tony had been allowed to coin himself, when he'd stumbled across a hastily penned "Swivel Chair. Swivel Chair. Swivel Chair, weeeee." in the margin of one of Steve's sketch books and had forcibly extracted the whole story from his lover _(Forcibly. With Feathers_ ).

Bosiac, of course, was **Box Of Scraps. In A Cave.**

Which was basically Tony speak for 'Actual Genius at Work', with a small complementary element of 'Leave me the fuck alone'.

"Thanks Jarvis, I'll leave him to it then. Although – Can you let me know if he falls asleep at his workbench again?" Steve asked.

There was a beat of silence, which was inexplicable for such a sophisticated program, but not for someone thinking about a past event that had worried them, and when JARVIS answered, it was with a level of _thankfulness_ that no none would credit with being dis-human. "…With expedience, Sir."

Steve startled slightly at the ' _Sir,_ ' a warm feeling flooding his chest as he recognised the term of address for what it was. Respect, approval, warmth, value. It was JARVIS's choice of address for his creator, his _father_ , and was solely used for that purpose, it was the highest form of admiration he could bestow with just one word. Steve had never heard it used by JARVIS to anyone else.

And he'd just used it with _Steve._

Humbled by the honour, Steve only nodded his thanks, knowing that JARVIS would see.

It was gratifying to know that Jarvis had such faith in him, though Steve would have given it back in heartbeat if he could undo the event that had precipitated it.

Even now, weeks later he could hear JARVIS'S panicked voice, volume raised to an actual shout. He'd never heard JARVIS sound more human. Or more terrified.

In the end, it had been anticlimactic, but Steve still added the entire event to those that haunted his sleep at night.

Tony, asleep at his work bench, plagued by a nightmare, had somehow managed to fall from his stool, hitting his head on the corner of the workbench, and had then managing to pull several hundred pounds of gold-titanium alloy down on top of himself. Out cold, he'd lay on the hard cement floor, blood slowly pooling beneath his head.

And JARVIS, aware, having seen, cataloguing vitals, trying to rouse…completely cut off from the outside world, his main servers down for upgrades, had watched on for hours, helpless….

In the end JARVIS had managed to communicate verbally with Dummy, finally convincing the helper bot to blast music at such a decibel that it had annoyed The Hulk enough that Bruce had broken from his hour of mediation to go tell Tony off.

Thankfully it hadn't been too serious on Tony's part, a few bruises and a moderate concussion his only injuries.

For JARVIS though, it had been one of the worst experiences of his existence, and the fact that Steve recognised that, and took actions to make sure he never had to go through it again, on JARVIS's own merit, as opposed to Tony's, was the prompt behind the rare display of gratitude from the AI.

Even though he was the only person in the room, the air still felt like it was _heavy_. Hanging stale and cold around him, all earlier comfort and lazy tiredness forgotten.

Steve wondered if JARVIS remembered. He knew the AI had memory banks, but he wondered if the program associated thoughts or feelings, emotions with specific memories. If picturing Tony lying on the cold concrete of his workshop made him feel something like the empty roiling mess that sank to the pit of Steve's stomach and sat there, dense and rotten.

"JARVIS, can you- I need to see him." Steve spoke loudly, and before he finished the sentence, an image appeared on the display sunk into the wall to his left.

And like a breath of fresh air, the room lightened again, the sense of foreboding that had been clawing its way into his mind dissipating, replaced by the same giddy feeling that only ever occurred when one person was within his sights.

 _And what a sight._

Tony was dancing, head thrown back, face turned to the ceiling. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and his arms spread wide. He was spinning in place, hips swaying to a beat that Steve couldn't hear through the visual-only feed. His lips were moving, and Steve didn't know if he was singing along, heckling the bot that awkwardly shuffled around him in some stylized robot-dance, or simply yelling, but Steve found he truly didn't care.

It was enough to watch as Tony dipped and cavorted about the workshop, a wrench clenched in one fist, the other an empty extension of grace.

Even with grease dotting his entire body, great smears of black across his left cheek and down his neck. Even with hair that looked like the victim of an oil spill. With torn, burnt, filthy and ill-fitting clothes.

Steve still felt his breath catch.

He could've lay there forever. For another 70 years. Watching this. Just watching Tony.

But even as he thought it, Steve felt anther yawn break free, and mind calmed again, he shrugged the blankets higher around his shoulders, curled Tony's favourite pillow into his arms and scrunched down against it. His eyes slipped closed on the image of Tony's wrench meeting the metal rod clenched in Dummy's claw, as a mock sword fight began some 50 stories below.


	2. 6:30am

Bouncing his weight lightly from one foot to the other, Steve waited with less than his usual patience as the elevator descended, passing swiftly between floors. Amped up with fidgety energy, he could feel the twitch of restless throbbing in the muscles of his calves, tendrils of agitation bringing a burning need to _move_ into the forefront of his mind, and it was with a heightened level of eagerness that he looked toward his morning jog.

He'd overslept his normal four hours, his body demanding he make up for the early am bedtime, and that, coupled with the fact that much of the afternoon and evening before had been spent almost completely inactive, had Steve chomping at the bit to use some of the jittery energy that burned within him.

Being almost 6:30 in the morning, a full hour and a half past his usual wake-up, he wanted to get out into the city soon, before his favourite routes became too crowded.

He had one more stop to make first though, because he was kind of hoping for some company this morning.

Once or twice a week Clint and/or Natasha joined him, and he met Sam every Thursday. Even Rhodey on occasion, when their schedules lined up, would join him for an hour or so, usually followed by breakfast somewhere nearby.

While Steve really did enjoy the usually solitary nature of his morning jog, he never turned down company when it was offered, even though it meant he had to slow his pace, (or in Sam's case, continuously call 'on your left' and listen to the man mutter under his breath for the next lap). He knew that some of the others used those 'one-on-one' moments with him, either as friend or as team leader, to ask for advice, or voice concerns that they didn't feel comfortable voicing in front of everyone.

Steve himself used the times Rhodey joined him to bounce around concerns and ideas about their mutual best friend, which Rhodey, equal measures relieved and glad to add another member to the 'In Tony's best interest' club, answered to the best of his ability, with minimal badmouthing of said best friend.

Tony joining him was a rarity, for many reasons, chief amongst them being how insanely busy the genius usually was, and the fact that Tony "only did one type of strenuous physical activity, _and it certainly wasn't jogging"._ But, once in a blue moon, usually when Tony was having a complete lack of success in the brain department, he'd feel the pull of a monotonous 'one step in front of the other' activity. Or sometimes, when Tony simply wanted to spend more time with Steve during particularly busy times, Steve would find himself jogging along, rubbing elbows with the person whose company he enjoyed above all others.

Which was why he felt kind of bad about the ulterior motive he occasionally possessed when he asked Tony to come jogging with him. Namely the hope that he would innocently run Tony so far into the ground, that pure exhaustion would make the genius sleep for the next day and a half.

Never let it be said that Captain America wasn't a strategically mastermind.

It was something that had worked in the past, one of only two or three methods with an, as of yet, 100% success rate. Surprisingly, methods involving sex only had an overall success rating of 92%, which Steve chose to credit to Tony's admirable work ethic, rather than his own prowess in the bedroom.

The success of this method, which hinged on him actually convincing Tony to join him on his morning jog, had in fact, very little to do with the jogging, and rather more to do with Tony's competitive nature, and inability to give in gracefully.

Steve had discovered, completely by accident of course, that Tony wouldn't say anything if Steve's pace was too fast, and he wouldn't back off gracefully. Tony, being Tony, would fight to keep up every step of the way.

And inevitably run himself into exhaustion.

'Nosedive into the footpath' exhaustion.

Admittedly, that had only been the once.

Steve was always much more careful now to regulate his speed when they jogged together, keeping pace with Tony rather than the other way round. And on the occasions where he actually wanted Tony too tired to move, he carefully set the pace so that they'd breach the tower perimeter before Steve had to sweep Tony off his feet, as his knees buckled and his eyes rolled.

It wasn't a method he used often, but on mornings like this one, when Tony hadn't been to bed in almost four days…well, Steve felt he was a little justified.

It was this thinking that followed him from the elevator, across the corridor and into the workshop.

Which was- _quiet?_

Not actually quiet, as in silent, but the decibel of the music was actually quite pleasant, rather than the usual head-splitting racket that greeted anyone who entered Tony's domain.

Unable to see his lover anywhere in the immediate area, Steve stepped further into the room, and assuming Tony was concealed somewhere deeper in the workshop, by shelf or machine, he opened his mouth to call- only to be stopped by the quiet beep from his left.

Turning, Steve grinned, "Hey Buddy- what are you up to?" , watching as Dummy rolled closer to him, strut held high, waving excitedly until Steve accommodated him with a small high five gesture.

"I'm looking for your Daddy- think you can help me?" He asked, waiting patiently as Dummy processed the request, knowing that the bot's search and locate programming was fairly sketchy, but with practice he was getting better.

A beep in the affirmative, and Dummy trundled away, rounding the corner to what was technically a small break room area, hosting an old sofa, coffee machine, small refrigerator and a sink. In reality though, it was just another section of the workshop, Tony having dismantled an entire engine on the poor little coffee table, bits and pieces strewn all about the area.

Rounding the corner after the bot, Steve found himself fighting an incredulous laugh at the sight that greeted him.

It looked like Tony had walked around the corner, seen the sofa, gone " _Oh, sofa!"_ , and simply flopped down over the closest arm, face planting into the soft cushioning at the other end.

Bent at the hips, legs dangling, feet still planted firmly on the floor, he was sound asleep.

Shaking his head with a fond exasperation that he'd come to know very well, Steve bodily lifted Tony, turning him easily as he did so, and moving a few steps along the couch front, he dragged his lover onto the sofa properly.

Despite the movement, which although infinitely gentle, had been rather abrupt, Tony barely stirred, as Steve had known he wouldn't. Once asleep, the world needed to be ending, the company collapsing, or Steve yelling, before Tony would wake before he was good and ready, which usually meant about three hours. After which Steve would need to pin him to the bed, preferably naked, to get him to sleep a more decent seven.

As he watched, Tony's entire reaction to being picked up and moved was to roll onto his side, curl his hands up beneath his head and breathe out a soft whuffling sigh.

Steve felt his amused grin soften to something gentler, more intimate. The restless energy that had been pushing him all morning subsided abruptly, replaced by a loose desire to just stand there and watch Tony sleep all day.

Watch long eyelashes flutter faintly against darkly circled eyes, skin a fragile and delicate wash of pale ivory, above lips bruised red by worrying teeth. Watch the darts of tongue, pink and glistening as it swept across slightly chapped lips.

Steve wasn't sure if it was the absolute _vulnerability_ about Tony's sleeping form, the way he just _relaxed,_ just _let go_ , or the way he became _softer_ , and lost the constant layer of sarcasm and defensiveness, but something about it, some innate, instinctual factor moved something deep inside, so much so, that Steve's chest _ached_ with it.

When Tony was like this… _A_ lways _,_ but _especially_ when he was like this, he was just so _impossibly_ gorgeous.

Steve never did get his run that morning.


	3. 12:30pm

He'd snuck out of the workshop a little after 8am, when it had suddenly dawned on him that he actually had places to be, and things to be doing. Loathe as he was to admit it, this was not a morning he could spend sitting around just watching Tony sleep.

Although he planned to pen one of those into his schedule as soon as possible.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Looking up, Steve nodded to the last of his 'things to be doing' of the morning, although to be honest he actually had no idea _what_ Director Fury had just been saying.

From the look on Nick's face, it seemed that the man was well aware of this, although it remained to be seen whether he gave enough of a shit to call him on it.

" _Mhmm_ , _right_. Well, just make sure you tell that armour clad imbecile of yours. And make sure he knows that it's _not_ a suggestion. " Fury answered, so apparently not.

Getting to his feet, Steve replied, "No Problem. If that'll be all, sir?"

Already turning his attention to the gargantuan pile of paper on his desk, Fury waved him out of their weekly report with a dismissive gesture and a half muttered, "… Fuck! Will you people stop doodling in the margins of your reports! What is this shit- is that supposed to be Banner?" followed him out the door.

Making his way down the Hellicarrier corridor toward the flight deck, Steve chuckled to himself. He pulled out his phone and sent Natasha a quick text, ' **Fury very impressed by chibi- Bruce. Thor next?** '

He grinned at the immediate response of **'…and Loki. Braiding each other's hair.'**

Steve was pretty sure that Fury knew he was the culprit, but seeing as how they kept alternating whose report the little additions made their way onto each week- well, there was no proof.

Slipping his phone away, Steve bounded up the narrow staircase and out onto the deck, heading toward the departure area, wondering who he'd be able to flag down for a lift to back to the city.

It was the name that grabbed his attention.

"…Stark. I'm telling you, I heard the security department talking about it. At one o'clock - he'll buzz the carrier, so they activate the new tech. Then Ironman will try to puncture the shield with a supersonic dive. It's gonna be so awesome!"

Steve wasn't sure of the speaking agent's identity, but he recognised his companion by the shocking tuft of bright yellow hair that whipped about in the high winds of the deck.

Agent Duckling, the name courtesy of Tony, of course.

Steve couldn't, for the life of him, remember the man's actual name, _thanks very much Tony_ , and so it was _Duckling_ who spoke in his head as he heard the man's response, "But…Why? I mean, isn't there… _safer_ ways of testing the tech?"

If the men were saying what Steve was picturing in his head, Steve wanted to know the exact same thing.

"It's Stark. Who they fuck knows. Maybe he just wants to piss Fury off." replied the first Agent, and then added excitedly, "Look, there he is!"

Even without having heard the exchange, Steve would have recognised the tell-tale sound of the repulsors anywhere, and he looked up in time to see the streak of red and gold as Ironman buzzed the Hellicarrier at a ridiculous speed.

 _"_ _God-damn it Tony._ I'm going to kill you!"

It matched Steve's sentiment pretty well spot on, but the words hadn't come from his mouth. Turning, Steve quickly pinpointed the source as the dark skinned man hurrying out onto the flight deck from one of the nearby bays.

"Rhodey?" Steve called, moving in the Captain's direction, watching as Rhodey's head turned from scanning the sky to lock eyes with him.

"Steve! Are you here with that idio- Aaah, _okay,_ by that look I'm going to go with _no._ " Rhodes asked as he jogged over to meet Steve.

"Yeah, that's a no. You didn't know about this either?" Steve asked, eyes skyward, searching for wherever red and gold might appear.

"Oh, I know _all about this._ And I told him he was an idiot and that I'd kill him if he did it." Rhodey snapped back, shaking his head in disgust.

Steve had a rather foreboding sense of dread sitting heavy in his stomach as he asked, "Okay, _what's going on?_ "

Rhodes looked visibly pained as he answered, "He's developed a new shielding technology, something about buoyancy repelling matter or...anyway, the science doesn't matter. Point is, he's going to test it himself."

"And by test…you mean ram himself into it." Steve surmised, the images that accompanied the words through his mind not any he was particularly fond of.

"That's pretty much the picture." Rhodey replied, but before either of them could say anything more, let alone think of a way to stop their idiot mutual best friend from trying to pancake himself against the Hellicarrier flight deck, the familiar drone of repulsors approaching caught their attention.

Approaching fast.

6.2 seconds later it was all over.

It had felt like an hour to Steve, as he'd watched, head craned backward to look almost directly up, as Ironman had rocketed toward the deck surface, at what Steve would estimate was nigh on top speed.

And then, barely a meter from the deck, Ironman had simply _slowed_ with such abrupt finality, that it had been an almost immediate halt. A slow forward push brought the face plate closer to the hard surface that Steve was in anyway comfortable with…

And then he'd _bounced_ backwards.

Bounced. There was no other word that did justice to the slow rolling motion that had sent Ironman backwards into the sky a good 10 feet, and left him hovering, without a mark, 20 feet above the Hellicarrier surface.

Silence hung in the air, notwithstanding the wind that roared at the high altitude, and then a _whoop!_ from further along the deck broke the atmosphere. Flipping the faceplate up, Tony punched a fist into the air, adding his own shout of triumph to the sudden cacophony.

Steve had to physically make himself draw a deep slow breath, a rising tide of fear, anger and adrenaline scribbling red across his vision.

Beside him he felt Rhodey snort a long stern breath through his nose, and he could practically feel the man vibrating with anger from where he stood.

Unable to contain himself, Rhodey shouted, his voice deep and entirely too commanding to be ignored, "GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

Steve saw the instant that Tony heard the shout, the second he recognised the voice, because even in the suit, Steve could see the way the other man _cringed_ , his shoulders rolling up into his ears as he shrunk away from the well-deserved anger directed at him.

Watching as Tony pirouetted higher away (did Tony think Rhodey had the ability to jump 20 feet into the air?), brought Steve's mind to stuttering halt, decimating the anger as he admired the smooth lines of the armour.

The absolute precision and control that Tony exerted over the suit, like it was an extension of his own soul, was something beyond anything Steve had ever seen.

Sketch book after sketch book dedicated to only one subject, in sharp angles and sweeping lines of red and gold, spoke to his slight obsession with the gorgeous piece of machinery, made only more fascinating by the man within.

So much so, that even as furious as he was, his heart still thumping madly in his chest, the sight of Tony in his element, was almost enough to make him lose all perspective of the situation.

And then he saw the moment that Tony's skittering eyes, in an attempt to avoid Rhodey's lasers of doom, fell upon Steve.

He dropped a foot in the air and physically blanched, his skin washing to a pale chalky grey before a scattering of blotched red appeared high in his cheeks.

Tony's own guilty reaction brought his anger back to the forefront of Steve's mind, and he felt no sympathy as he added his own _'front and centre, Mister'_ look to Rhodey's continuing shouts of gruesome reprisal.

As he watched Tony all but _slink_ through the air, before suddenly ducking beneath the lip of the carrier and disappearing toward the city in a streak of red/gold. Steve wasn't sure if it was reluctant amusement or exasperated frustration that he was feeling, but whatever the case, he turned and grabbed Rhodey's shoulder as the man blustered toward the edge of the deck, the grating sound of the War Machine powering up somewhere behind them.

"Let him panic for a while, dig himself into an even deeper hole. How about a lift back to the tower?" Seeing Rhodey wavering, Steve added, "He's got to come home sometime…."


	4. 11:30pm

Tony had come home, eventually.

What had followed was a three hour screaming match between himself, Captain Rhodes and Tony.

Tony had left again.

Steve felt pretty wretched about the whole thing, to be honest.

It had been a rehash of much the same argument they'd been having since Ironman joined the Avengers, or since Tony _became_ Ironman, in Rhodey's case.

The one that followed the gamut of "You're too reckless/ It was necessary. You could have been hurt/I calculated the risk factor. You could have hurt someone else/I _calculated_ the risk factor. You don't think- "

This was about when Tony had shoved Rhodey out of the way and shot up the newly cleared staircase, throwing over his shoulder in an angry voice, choked with betrayal, "All I do is think!"

Looking back on their furious argument, Steve still felt he and Rhodes were in the right; it _had_ been a dangerous, unnecessary risk. Although he'd admit that it perhaps it also hinged somewhat on fact that Tony _hadn't told him_.

Steve wouldn't have liked it under any circumstances, but if he'd known it was happening, had understood the science as best he could and had known what to expect, he probably wouldn't have reacted anything like the way he had.

He trusted Tony, trusted his genius and his inventiveness. But there had been a split second, or perhaps a bit longer, when Tony had been careening head first toward the deck, getting closer and closer, not showing any signs of stopping…there had been a moment when his heart had almost choked him, so high in his throat it had been.

It had been mostly fear that had caused his reaction, and while he felt justified, that didn't really help with the guilty anguish he felt when he remembered the gleam of angrily refused tears he'd seen when Tony had finally managed to shove past them and escape back upstairs.

He felt a little ashamed of his behaviour, and of Rhodey's, truth be told.

Steve Rogers hated a bully. And while neither he nor Rhodey had been intentionally bullying Tony, there had been an element of intimidation, just their sheer physical size as they'd crowded him to stop him from simply walking away…

Angry as he still was, remnants of fear sitting sharp in his chest…Well, Steve hated a bully, and he hated himself a little at the moment.

Flopping down on the couch in the den, Steve sighed as he flicked the TV on, feeling a little washed out and a lot regretful.

He'd seen Rhodey out a few minutes ago, the other man also looking a little shamed at what their reaction had wrought, and he'd promised that he'd sort it out as soon as possible.

Whether that meant apologise or something else entirely, Steve wasn't sure, but whatever the case, he had to trust that Rhodes knew how to handle his own relationship with his best friend.

"And the fact that Captain America is apparently gay… How does that hold up under American Values an-"

His own name grabbed his attention, but Tony's voice drew his eyes to the TV as he passionately jumped on the topic. "The fact that this supposedly modern world we live in still tries to label any portion of our society as 'second class' for _any reason_ , let alone one as favourable as who they might happen to love, makes me sick. You've all seen my campaign. I'm LOVE BLIND - I See No Difference. Whether you love a man, woman, black, white, old, young- I am BLIND to any differences. Are you LOVE BLIND, Amalie?" Tony shot back, as if daring her to be anything but, before adding in a light undertone "Thanks for the plug though."

"Very LOVE BLIND, Tony. Completely BLIND in fact…and you're welcome" The reporter smiled cheekily, before asking "Will you tell us a little about Steve? As you see him, not Captain America, but just Steve?"

"He folds his underwear. Won't wear odd socks. Drinks milk out of the bottle. " The reporter snorted a sip off water, and broke into a coughing fit, one which Steve, not having seen this interview yet, matched.

And then Tony's entire demeanour changed.

He sat up slowly, moving from the sloth like sprawl over the studio's sofa into an almost eager position, sitting slightly forward, his legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded in his lap.

His eyes blinked closed, and the most _wistful_ smile that Steve had ever seen drifted across his face. Like whatever Tony was thinking about, was the most wonderful, amazing, special thing in the entire world.

Steve felt his breath catch, his heart thud, because even dressed in however many thousand dollar Armani, diamond studded cufflinks at his wrists and his hair styled to perfection; it was still that smile that drew Steve in.

Because Steve knew Tony was thinking about him.

"Look okay, It's like this- Steve is the very best that America has to offer. This is not perfection. Perfection is boring, is dull… Steve is better. He's real and he's good. So good. And I'm entirely sure that many of you would agree with me on this, but Steve is entirely too good for me. The fact that he wants me anyway? That's what makes him good. "

The interviewer raised her eyebrow incredulously, and Tony barked out a self-depreciating laugh, continuing, "Sorry, I know that was confusing. I'm not really explaining this right. Its like- He doesn't feel entitled to the best of everything, despite the fact that he could get it with just a twitch of his fingers. Or maybe _because_ he could get it with just a twitch of his fingers. He's not greedy or self-centred or- "

The interviewer cut him off, "Tony, maybe I'm wrong here, but could what makes him so _good,_ be the fact that he makes _you_ want to be better?"

Steve felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

And then Tony answered.

"He doesn't make me want to be better. He made me realize that I _am_ better."

* * *

' **I'm Sorry. I love you. Please come home.'** was all the text said.


	5. 1am

Right in that moment, at that exact instant of time, Steve Rogers was absolutely 100% sure of only two things.

The first was that **It didn't matter.**

If it was brown eyes staring intently from the double page spread of a magazine, reclining elegantly against a velvet chaise lounge, immaculate tailored, all signs of age and life airbrushed away to reveal perfection as only the media can do.

Or tangled hair an oil-strewn mess, smudges of dark grease competing against darkly circled eyes, clothes stained, ripped and worn, barefoot. A mess of chaotic energy and brilliance.

It didn't matter.

Tony Stark never failed to take Steve's breath away.

But never quite so much as when he was like _this._

Scattered moonlight stealing through gaps in covered windows, only to immediately be put to shame by electric blue glow. Lithe muscle an expanse of contrasting and contradicting physicality, simultaneously soft and supple, strong, powerful, gentle and wild, lost in a fantastical world of Steve's own design.

The line of Tony's flank, the svelte stretch of skin over well-muscled torso drew Steve's gaze higher, his eyes raking over the reactor with an almost possessive bent, although in truth, that could be said regarding the entirety of the man sitting straddled low over his hips.

Seemingly kept from shattering to pieces by only the strength of Steve's hands bracketing his waist- no, _waiting to shatter at Steve's hands._

A glisten of sweat, tiny beaded pearls dusted across desire flushed skin, pooling in crevice and hollow. eyes blown wide and dark, lips too red to be anything other than thoroughly kiss swollen, Tony was _breathtaking._

The second thing Steve knew was that make up sex was _the best._


End file.
